


The Council of Barad-dûr

by MiddleSilmaril (PeanutButterDragon)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Council Meeting, Family Drama, Gen, Headcanon, Maiar, Second Age, fragments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4287438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeanutButterDragon/pseuds/MiddleSilmaril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Maiar fragment into separate beings over time. All of Mairon's fragments gather together in Barad-dûr to discuss what they need to do in regards to the “Númenórean Affair” and all it entails. Family drama ensues as old wounds are dug up and everyone enjoys Thû's fabulous cooking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Council of Barad-dûr

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first work here so hopefully it all goes well. Fingers crossed that there are no major formatting problems or anything else. A few explanatory notes first off though.
> 
> First and foremost. This story and all my based around the events of "The Silmarillion" will vary from the canon as I believe that the book reads as more of a religious text and propaganda than actual history. However the Silmarillion exists in word and most of the people are aware of the discrepancies.
> 
> Second: Fragments. In this particular AU of mine there were initially very few Maiar but over time and depending on need they could 'fragment' into more beings by splitting their power. Each of these fragments has a unique personality and is fully independent (with certain exceptions) and there is absolutely no guarantee that they will all get along.
> 
> This is set roughly around 3,259 years into the Second Age, just before Ar-Pharazôn lands and takes "Sauron" captive.
> 
> Celebri is not actually alive. However Annatar is able to manipulate the wire skeleton inside the doll to make it seem like the door is alive.
> 
> And I'm using neri (he-elf) and nissi (she-elf) because they sound much nicer than he-elf and she-elf do. I found them through an essay on the Ansereg website which says it comes from the "Laws & Customs of the Eldar". Though I may use the Sindarin words Ellon (he-elf) and Elleth (she-elf) when I have a reason to write from a Sinda point of view.
> 
> End of work notes include short descriptions on the additional races I have mentioned only in passing.
> 
> I don't have a beta reader, I did my best to correct any mistakes but if you notice anything tell me and I'll do my very best to fix it.

As far as Thû was concerned the whole “Númenórean Affair” was getting out of hand almost as fast the First Age “Noldor Affair” had. Which said everything there was to say as far as he was concerned. There was also the added bonus that the ramifications of said affair was no doubt going to have on the course of history of Endórë and, if Gorthaur was to be believed, even impact Valinor. Which meant that all of the fragments had to be gathered together to form a council. Just from memory of the old councils when it had been just five of them and not eight with one… Thû spared a glance at Annatar where he sat huddled on his chair making the Celebrimbor doll he had move and play with him by manipulating the metal skeleton. _Unwell would be kindest_ , he decided and resumed laying out the tablecloth. It was an reasonably elegant piece although it was early on in Thû’s experience with embroidery and he found it lacking. Hence why he had brought it. No problem with wine stains, food stains, Tevildo’s claws, anything his brothers could throw at the damn thing didn’t matter. Besides he wasn’t unconvinced Sauron wouldn’t be keeping everything he’d brought to Barad-dûr to try and make it more cheerful. Annatar did so poorly in grim environs. 

The meeting room, despite Sauron’s predisposition for black stone _everything_ with no thought whatsoever for comfort, was now rather cheerful though. All of Thû’s hard work after he had rushed to Mordor to decorate the room had paid off. The walls were covered in tapestries of the great events of the First Age, including a very fair rendition of the Lay of Leithian that told the _true story_ and not that Valinor approved Sinda bullshit one that everyone circulated. The stone table looked more welcoming under the tablecloth and all the ridiculous stone chairs had been replaced with fine wooden ones with soft goose down cushions. The kitchens were also full of food being kept warm in the stoves ready to be brought out at the first sign of the guests. And of course Thû had brought out the good wine and placed the wine rack behind where he assumed Aulendil would be sitting. There should, Eru willing, be enough food and drink to keep anyone from starting any serious arguments or bringing up any sore spots.

The room could be counted as a success.

Even Annatar looked presentable with waist length Arafinwëion blond hair washed, brushed, braided in the style of the Mírdain and clasped with dwarven made mithril clasps. The robes he wore were some of Thû’s best work, a dark sapphire embroidered with mithril and studded with hundreds of tiny diamonds. Of course Celebri was dressed in a matching robe, with a matching hair style held by matching clasps, and with matching rings on each of his tiny delicate little fingers. If they’d been able to paint and change the makeup for the doll, no doubt he would have matched with that as well.

By contrast Thû, well, he looked down at his shirt and tried to puzzle out what colour his shirt used to be. Maybe beige, maybe white? It seemed more of an off yellow with patches at the elbows, mixed buttons and a stain that might have been wine but also could have been blood in the middle of his chest. The fur cloak was a patchy affair too. Nothing he could do about that but looking through the bags he’d brought he found a reasonably presentable vest that covered the stain.

Still no one else had arrived and Thû took a moment to move all the chairs a little more. When he felt the fitful whisper of Aulendil’s presence he called for the food to be brought and opened the first bottle of wine. The oldest bottle there was, some of the last remaining vintages they had taken from the ruin of Doriath. If this didn’t please his younger brother, nothing would.

The table was already piled high and the wine had breathed by the time Aulendil swept in with a wide grin that seemed out of place on the face he wore. No matter how they argued no one had been able to convince him that using the fána of a Fëanorian. 

“Still wearing a stolen face brother?” Thû took his seat to Annatar’s right, “You look like three elves, none of whom present fond memories for any of our siblings.” 

If anything, Aulendil’s grin seemed to widen, “But brother, everyone loved them! The greatest of the smiths of all the ages! Fëanaro who was the greatest smith before the sun rose, Curufinwë who was the greatest smith of the First Age and…” he had the sense to trail off and wave in the direction of the doll that now turned to stare at him with Noldo silver eyes, “The greatest smith of the Second Age. Really, it’s an incredibly fetching face!” 

“Aulendil,” Thû said and stood to brush and braid his brother’s hair into a state somewhat resembling respectability, “you are an idiot. But wear whatever fána you want, if someone hacks your head off for it that’s your problem.”

“You are the best brother,” Aulendil’s smile softened and his eyes closed, head tipped back, “And you pick the best wines.”

“And how fares Kanafinwë?”

“Eh, well enough, he wandered inland a fair ways, was caught by slavers who thought he would make a good peace offering to the local Akinavari. Short answer, he did, they are now looking after him as well as any of their own, better perhaps with all those freckles.”

“Because… of his freckles?”

“Oh yes, the stars upon the flesh. I visited him to make sure all was well.”

“You had the decency to change your fána I pray.”

“Of course, I went with respect and dignity, not to tear open old wounds. He managed to sing a few of their songs though none of his own. He has recovered more amongst those folks in five years than he did amongst his own folk in near one hundred and fifty.”

“Good to know, Eru knows that someone needs to keep an eye on that poor child.”

“Aye. Do I look like a respectable Noldo now? Like a Curufinwë proper?”

“Not even maybe,” Thû finished the braids and clasped them with spare dwarven clips he had in his pouch, “You’d need at least three baths to get all the filth out of your hair and clean your skin and put on _some proper clothes with decent embroidery!_ I swear you must just throw away all the clothes I make for you! And after all the work I put into them.”

“But you brought me some spare ones didn’t you? Because you’re the best brother,” Aulendil grinned up at him, a smudge of dirt across his nose. “And because Mairon will never let me live it down if he catches me in a dead man’s clothes again.”

“In the bags, try the red silk robe with the silver embroidery and the seed pearls around the collar. It has some stars on it,” Thû gestured to the bags in the corner.

“Fëanorian stars?”

“Be grateful I thought to bring you anything at all, now take the clothes and get changed because I think I’m beginning to feel that tingle,”

“No, no, no, no,”

“That bone deep itching that comes from being anywhere near Gorthaur!”

“No!”

But that threat was all it took and Aulendil was pulling out the robe, the shirt, the pants, the belt, the boots and cloak. A ring of the little silver bell was enough to call a servant in to pick up the scattered dirt smeared clothes to be burnt. The servant was an Arinyavar with huge black eyes, dark brown skin and who wore nothing but a long pleated red skirt. The muscles on his uncovered chest were almost _obscene_. And really, what was Sauron keeping servants like this for? And why was he still staring? The Arinyavar liked being watched though, small smile on his pretty red painted lips and a sultry cock to those handsome hips.

Thû turned away to focus on Annatar. There was a quiet chuckle almost hidden amidst the swish of silk and the click of the door. Thrice damned Arinyavar.

“Well he was handsome,” Aulendil grinned and the collar on his robe was turned up at the back which messed up his hair but Thû thought he deserved it at this point.

“And you look ridiculous little brother,” Mairon said as he swept through the door robe open and flaring, the style of Valinor before his betrayal. It was a dark grey thing, one of the ones Thû had made for him while still at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, with golden embroidery the greatest of which was the artistic depiction of Thangorodrim on the bad. All of it accentuated with tiny rubies. Everything about Mairon was old fashioned, even his mithril coloured hair was done in the intricate old style bun composed of a thousand and one braids and a thousand and one tiny pins. Once seated he turned his lamp like violet eyes to Thû and smiled, “And you seem to be doing…” he paused and turned to Annatar, “very good in caring for our littlest brother. You should come and visit us in Angband sometime, you look as if you could use a rest.”

“Annatar fares well enough, we have the dolls to keep us entertained and I have been working more on my stitching working from the book you brought me, the one that Lady Míriel wrote,” Thû forced a smile, “I could make you a new robe if you wished Mairon, something slightly more current than the Age of the Lamps?”

“Ah ha, ah ha, ah ha,” Mairon’s eyes narrowed to slits and he covered his lips with his hand, “I would stab you, I swear to Eru, if I could, I would stab you, I would.”

“I was thinking Noldo purple with mithril embroidery, seed pearls and maybe a few diamonds, perhaps some rubies as well, something just for you,” Thû waved his hands and conjured a rough image of the robe, nothing to tangible yet but enough to perhaps coax his brother into the Second Age. “Something that is purely you.” If the intensity of Mairon’s gaze were anything to go by he had succeeded.

“We’ll see, we’ll see, after this,” Mairon waved a distainful hand about the room, “whole _affair_ is over. Besides I think the rest of my merry troupe has finally passed by that _lovely_ servant.”

“Oh!” Aulendil laughed into his wine, “We know all about that one! Don’t we, Thû?”

“Go jump in the sea you drunkard,” Thû said.

Gorthaur entered without so much as a whisper, seeming to float rather than walk, even with the great Iron Crown clasped within one fine boned hand and Grond clasped within the other, both seeming far too large to be born in hands to frail. There was a delicate smile on his lips and though his eyes were closed to slits the light like the silmarils spilled down his cheeks. Black silk hair spilled unbound down over his shoulders to coil like snakes upon the floor. The sable robe was immaculate decorated with only the lightest mithril embroidery and a handful of seed pearls. Understated elegance. It suited Gorthaur. Elegant, simple, quiet. As he took his seat he nodded to each of them and then began to nibble away at one of the Fëanorian star biscuits. The dignity of his appearance was marred when he dropped to his knees and crawled under the table to place the crown there.

The crash that preceded Thauron was catastrophic. The panicked look on his face when he rushed through the door to take his seat before anyone could blame him was priceless. “I did not break it,” he said with the deep voice of a man or dwarf, “it must have been someone else.” There were fragments of black stone in his dark blond hair though overall the waist length braid was still in place. It seemed he was taking his beard with a greater degree of serious than he had when last they were together because it was near an inch now and well-groomed though it seemed out of place on any face finished with elven ears. 

“You ripped your robe,” Thû’s fingers itched for needle to mend the tears in the black velvet, but it had damaged the gold and mithril embroidery, it was a loss, “What, exactly, did you do.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Thauron sank almost under the table, just his golden eyes and the brown of his forehead visible, “It was an accident. I swear it.”  
Before Thû could reply Tevildo was swinging off the door, “Guess what Thauron broke!”

“Shut up or I’ll rip your ears right off!” Thauron was upright, chair skating back across the floor and shaking the table with his fists.

“Peace,” Gorthaur’s voice is like a ghost’s voice, whisper soft and more felt than heard but it is enough. Thauron retrieved his seat and sulked over a blueberry and cream pie. For a long moment Tevildo hung from the door with a frown but under the threat of a raised eyebrow from Gorthaur he took his seat.

“Are you trying to grow a beard?” Thû looked at the small patch of black scruff on the Lord of Cat’s chin.

A clawed hand snapped to Tevildo’s chin, “What do you mean trying? This is the style of the Lords of Rhûn!”

“It’s not even half a beard,” Thauron stroked his own with obvious pride, “it’s like a babe’s beard.”

“Have you ever seen a babe with a beard?” Tevildo deadpanned and blinked green catlike eyes twice.

Thauron’s smile dropped like lead, “No…?”

“Tevildo,” Thû raised a hand to his forehead, thanked Eru he had moved to the ruins of the Halls of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and out of Angband, thus away from this madness.

“I had enough of your tormenting Thauron on the way here Tevildo, cease it,” Mairon was more curt, “We already know that his strengths lay in the strength of his arms, his loyalty and his focus on tasks. Stop mocking his lack of intelligence.”

“Yes,” Thauron said, his fist shook the table again, “stop mocking my lack of intelligence.”

To say Tevildo almost fell from his chair was an understatement, he clung onto it with the barest luck while he whooped with laughter. After a moment of confusion Thauron joined in as if deciding whatever the joke he’d missed was, it was worthy of laughter. Such a sweet and simple thing their brother. So very sweet. Like some great stupid warhound that didn’t actually understand that when it tore an elda’s throat out he was killing them. 

“You’re not wearing a robe Tevildo.” Thû said when the laughter died, taking in the plain pants, the elegant cut of the shirt and the tight fit of the lightly embroidered vest, only silver thread. All the cloth was black of course. If Tevildo wore it then it must match his hair and the cat ears that rose from the short crop of it.

“Ah, they are out of fashion amongst the Lords of Rhûn.” Tevildo said and proceeded to dip his fingers into the fillings of several different pies to taste them before selecting one for himself, peach, and one for Thauron, plumb. A peace offering. Not half bad considering Thauron’s love of peaches. “So, just the lord of the house left? You’d think he would have been here first.”

“With Thû and Annatar setting the room up,” sometimes the shit that came out of Thauron’s mouth made them wonder if they shouldn’t reconsider how intelligent he was, “even he’s not stupid enough to be alone with them.”

They fell into small talk about what had been done in terms of careful reconstruction and rebuilding efforts all across the north. Finally, after almost 3260 years Angband was rebuilt. The dragons had been an ever _helpful hindrance_ according to Mairon but all was finished. The outermost walls were now twice as high as they had been with a secondary inner wall that was a little higher still. When pressed Gorthaur provided the occasional little grin or “yes” or “hmm” or once “pretty”, though none of them were sure what he meant by that last one. 

When Sauron entered it was with a stiff back just the wrong side of confident and into afraid but he sat next to Thû without flinch or hesitation. Animosity or not Sauron was ever professional. Despite everything, despite the anger and the disgust at his methods Thû could admit that Sauron did have a good sense of fashion. The robe he wore was a deep red with slashes in the sleeves and sides to reveal the golden yellow of the under robe with a tasteful amount of gold embroidery about the collars and cuffs. The reddish gold of his hair was braided in a single braid then wound into a tight braid and bound in a net of gold wire, diamond and rubies. 

“Where are those robes in fashion? I’ve not seen that style before,” Thû reached out to touch the slashes, very careful hemming.

For a moment Sauron seemed too stunned to reply then he smiled, proud and open for once, “It is popular amongst some of the more civilised people of Harad. I liked the fact that there are two colours, it’s so unlike the older styles.”

“There were some similar cuts that the Vanyar wore back in Valinor, I have some books on the styles of the Valinor from before the Years of the Trees,” Thû examined nodded and met Sauron’s catlike golden eyes that seemed all the brighter against the bronze of his skin.

Calloused hands were folded before Sauron's face, “If you would be willing to share them with me.” 

“If you ensure you return them when you are finished,” Thû held his hand out to Celebri when the doll reached out and let it walk across his lap. Tiny hands reached for Sauron’s and after a long moment he held it out. Once the rings were examined Celebri slapped him on the cheek with as much force as his tiny arm could muster.

“If you had been that forceful when I met you,” Sauron said and handed the doll over Thû and back to Annatar with a slight smile, “then I would have asked to live with you as well, I would have built you towers. I’m good at building towers. No one would have sacked Ost-in-Edhil if I had built towers to keep watch and rain down ruin on all your foes. But we did not come to talk of you elf lord.”

At that Gorthaur stood, when he tapped Grond’s handle on the floor it made a sound like ringing glass not metal and the silence that fell was absolute. “I have seen,” Gorthaur said and the light of his half open eyes brightened the room, “Taniquetil shaking while the fair white shores of Valinor are swarmed with the Númenórean ships.” When his eyes closed the room seemed dim and dark, bereft of something they all, in their hearts, longed for, “I know it is a distinct possibility, it is a clear future and it looms large.” Having said his part he settled back and left Grond to stay where it was, though it ought to have been impossible to balance. After he took to nibbling a biscuit in the shape of a screaming Fëanaro.

The rest of them contemplated the implications of that. The Ban of the Valar meant that men were not to even sail so far West that they could no longer see their own coasts, to sail all the way to Valinor and land… There was never any explicit explanation of what would happen to them if they did sail out of sight of Númenór. Typical of Manwë-Mandos declarations, ‘ignore our ruling and a _great-and-horrible-but-not-really-defined-DOOM-most-likely-involving-unnumbered-tears’_.

“Well that should be fun. I think I’ll move even further inland,” Tevildo scratched his ear and then sneezed, “because Melkor knows that when Manwë gets pissy things get extraordinarily messy. Like, Utumno, and you know, Angband, and you know Angband again. And you know, Melkor missing his feet and in chains, _again_ , and cast right _fucking out of Arda_.”

“Is there really a need to be so concerned?” Thú shrugged, Ost-in-Edhil was far enough inland to be out of easy striking range of Manwë’s wrath. A servant, more clothed thank Eru than the last, brought a small bowl of steaming soup. “Let us be honest, this so called ‘ _king of men_ ’ is a man,” he tucked a cloth into Annatar’s collar and lifted his chin with one hand to feed him a spoonful of soup with the other, “Your gates are strong, they’ll hold. Keep them shut, let him batter himself bloody and scream himself hoarse and go home disappointed and shamed. Continue your works when he is dead and gone and dust, we have time, we have time beyond even the measure of the eldar.”

On Annatar’s lap Celebri crossed his arms, if the painted face had been able to move Thû was certain he would have scowled a Fëanorion scowl. 

“He should have a little crown,” Sauron said and leant over to stroke the doll’s hair, “he always used to wear a little mithril circlet that Narvi made him.” There was a silence. One which was long and poignant. Because, really, since when had Sauron known or cared about anything that related to Celebrimbor. “Like I said, if he had been so forceful instead of so conciliatory I would have built him as many towers as he wanted with whatever coloured stone he so desired.”

“And back on track because this has gone odd enough,” Mairon rubbed his forehead.

Thû put the soup spoon down and pushed his hair back up into spikes again while Sauron fidgeted with his collar and Annatar sucked one of the rings from his finger. Before he could try and swallow it again Thû fished it out. The metal was a mithril alloy beloved of the Mírdain and there were tiny diamonds set into it that sparkled like stars. After a moment Annatar decided that sucking on the ring and Thû’s fingers was better than no ring at all.

“We have come together to discuss and come to an agreement on a course of _action_ , not inaction,” Mairon paused to accept a small meat pie Tevildo passed him, “but in all honesty, this is like when the Fëanorians attacked Tol-in-Gaurhoth trying to free the prisoners. We acted in your defence then Thû and sent our power to aid you and that let you push them back, keep some of your prisoners. Now we must do the same to protect Sauron’s land.”

From his place at Mairon’s left, Thauron snorted into his cup of wine and Aulendil laughed outright into his bottle. Neither were chastised by Mairon’s withering glare but the blinding light of Gorthaur’s gaze silenced them.

“Thauron, Aulendil-” Mairon began one hand up for silence and the other rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Necromancer, I changed it, I’m the Necromancer now,” Aulendil said, hands up with the bottle showing half-empty, and that awful ill-fitting smile plastered across his drunken face, “it’s more interesting, I have a nice plot of land outside the Gates, a little to the north, perfect for laying claim to my own little kingdom of the dead. Might even get some takers from this Númenórean force.”

“Well, that’s a change,” Tevildo said looking to Sauron. Up to now the youngest two fragments had seemed to prefer the company of the Children than their brothers, Annatar had gone amongst the elves and Sauron amongst the men. This was definitely a change. Not an unwelcome one, but any change involving Sauron was worth being examined with due measure. “Were you growing lonely all by yourself little brother, way down here in the south.”

“You did not want me to stay with you in Angband when I was newly come to the world,” Sauron said, arms crossed and facing away like some sort of affronted cat.

“That’s because Mairon said you looked like a rabble rousing delinquent,” Thauron said in that way he had when he was trying to be _helpful_. Of course he had to look so cheerful and proud to have remembered that. “I thought you looked like fun. If I’d know you were going to start a war I would have gone with you.”

“I think little baby brother, ai! Ai-ai-ai! I yield!” Tevildo fair shrieked when Gorthaur took one of his ears between his fingers and twisted it, “Peace, Gorthaur, peace! You’re well named indeed, cruel brother, cruel, cruel, cruel.” 

“Eat a biscuit and be silent,” Thû growled, face lengthening and teeth bared as they sharpened into fangs. The effect was lessened by him trying to pull his fingers from Annatar’s teeth now. Still the moment passed quick enough and he was left with the indignity of Annatar sucking with vigour on his fingers. “Never mind, forget the biscuits, I recommend the sugared rose petals, I think I outdid myself this time.”

In a more peaceful silence the sugared rose petals were passed around. Judging on the looks on his brother’s faces Thû felt he truly had outdone himself. When the bowl came to Annatar he released the ring and shoved a trio of petals into his mouth, though all he did was suck the sugar off before spitting the petals themselves out. Before Thû could make himself pick the rich red petals up Thauron plucked them and ate them without so much of a flinch. Then again this was the same person who had admitted to eating roasted elf when he and his troops were short on food.

After the rose petals had made the rounds Gorthaur sent the Fëanorian star biscuits around and Tevildo sent a platter of mixed pastries around in the other direction. Knowing that his cooking was so well appreciated always made Thû feel more content. Of them all he had always been the most… _Noldo_ of them all, ever seeking new crafts and skills to learn and master though his skill at the forge was less than his brothers. Though when it came to cooking, sewing, stitching, embroidery, leatherworking, doll making, wood working, painting, weaving, cutting tesserae and making mosaics. He had so many skills, more than any of his brothers. Still it was nice to know he was appreciated. Perhaps he should have gone amongst the elves of Eregion, they would have appreciated his swiftness and cunning when it came to learning and teaching. The Noldo might have been jealous even.

“Now, back to the matter at hand _again_ , in regards to the presence of the Númenórean forces under the command of this Ar-Pharazôn, this Tar-Calion we are in agreement that in some way it will change the fates of all. I move that we make use of our fool of a Lord’s gift and see what course of action we must pursue in order to best fulfil Eru’s will.” Mairon stood and raised his thus far untouched goblet of wine, “To our fallen Lord Melkor, may he be suffering boredom beyond measure, slim though that chance may be, in repayment for all the endless chaos and problems he caused us while he was here.”

“To our Lord!” Thauron said with a bright grin as he stood, “and his great big giant hammer! He worked wonders with it I shall never hope to match.”

“To our Lord,” Tevildo said, though he raised a pie instead of a goblet, “and you know he’ll have found something to keep himself interested Mairon, that’s just wishful thinking on your part.”

“To that mad vala, Melkor,” Aulendil raised his wine bottle and swayed, “may he come back from the void time and again to mess up Manwë’s hair and put a smile on Nienna’s tear stained face and give her strength to face the next dawn.”

“To Melkor,” Gorthaur whispered and stood, “may Fëanaro keep him company.”

“Not even going to get started on how that is ridiculous,” Thû stood and pulled Annatar up with him, “But, to Lord Melkor, for the fun we had while it lasted and the fun that will come when you finally get off your ass and back into Arda.”

“Melko,” was all Annatar had to say but it was something.

“To the Lord I never knew,” Sauron said and stood, “may I meet him ere the end and know what made him so worthy of such love and scorn at once. I swear I shall never understand from tales alone the devotion and disgust. But I will admire your might and glory, and I will drink to your name. To Lord Melkor.”

They all echoed the last and drank. Well everyone else drank and Thû tried to drink while Annatar tried to steal his goblet. With that the bell was rung for servants to come and clear the table of food while they took their seats again. There was such a mix of races that Thû had ever seen outside of Angband. Fair haired Sylvans from the west worked beside brown skinned Arinyavari from the sea of Núrnen and grey skinned Dökkálfar from the far north. Handsome men worked alongside battle scarred uruks and lithe little kobolds. There were even a handful of dwarves. 

Once all the servants had left Gorthaur ducked beneath the table again to bring out the Iron Crown and set it upon the centre of the table. It was the true crown, not the one that Melkor had worn with laughter and bright eyes on the last day of the War of Wrath. No silmarils gleamed in the empty sockets but the triple peaks of the crown send a familiar shudder of loss through all except Annatar and Sauron who had come to being in the Second Age.

“Must we really?” Tevildo’s ears are flattened but his hands are already held out to be taken, “I very much like being myself, there is a reason why we fragmented in the first place remember.”

“It is not permanent,” Gorthaur whispered, “nor painful. You have suffered worse at the hands of Huan.”

The muttered curses lasted a full minute and Thû outright refused to take even Annatar’s hand until Gorthaur apologised with soft spoken empty words. The rather bloody swathe that Lúthien Tinúviel had cut through their number was not going to fade, not with her death, not with the death of her father, not with the death of her son, and not even with the utter ruin of her kingdom. Nothing was going to settle the Lord of Werewolves and the Lord of Cats after their mauling, nor Mairon after his disgracing collasp into unconsciousness, nor Thauron for being outwitted even though he had escape the spell, nothing at all was going to settle them save the utter annihilation of that line. Rather regrettable it had managed to somehow become entangled with that of Finwë, which was so very difficult to stamp out even with the semi-suicidal nature of moth of the descendants.

Still, it was Thauron who moved first, ever willing to just move on, “Let’s be done with it,” the words were rough but his hand was gentle around Annatar’s.

“Wait,” Sauron held up his right hand and the ring that glittered on it, “what of the Ring, does it count as a separate fragment or still as the vast store of Annatar’s might?”

From his spot on Annatar’s lap Celebri gave him the silmarils, the three finger salute. Despite their fears Annatar seemed only interested in seeing if he could convince Sauron to bring his hand close enough to try and bite.

“Manwë’s blue fucking balls-”

“How would you even know what colour his-”

“Why does that-”

“Oh shut up, it was a valid-”

“It’s not! It’s just-”

“Is baby,” Annatar murmured and seemed so sweet, until he drew blood when he snapped his teeth on Sauron’s outstretched left hand. Because, as far as Thû could tell, Sauron had not read his unspoken desire to suck on the Ring. The predisposition toward trying to eat rings was really starting to be a concern. To his credit all Sauron did was freeze and make an odd keening noise. Even after living in the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil for 1,562 years Thû could feel grudging respect for Sauron now that he wasn’t just hating him on principle.

The noise continues to rise from everyone except Gorthaur but the silence falls like lead when Grond’s handle rings again against the stone. When he speaks it is still whisper soft but there is no longer a smile on his face and they all take note, “Place the ring on the table, between thyself and Thû, both thy hands upon it but also on each other. This way it matters not. No more distractions. I am yet Regent of Angband and it rankles to leave Angband and the Iron Throne so long unguarded.” Chastised and hanging by the fraying shreds of Gorthaur’s patience they take each other’s hands and include the Ring, regardless of what kind of fragment it is.

The vision, when it comes, is clear only to the minds of the ainur. Thousands of images, impressions, thoughts, dreams, speeches, words, songs of power, cries of despair all at once. Dreams of mighty men and lowly beasts. Images that must be Arda from the Void itself and others from beneath the waves. Dozens of variations of the same speeches some almost the same, others barely similar. Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of possible futures all at once. Númenór looms large in all of them, flags of black with a crowned five pointed silver star, and ships with great sails one of which was dyed the red of blood.

“Well now, that was spectacular,” Sauron said and his face was alight with awe, though that did not stop him from snatching the Ring back up and replacing it back on his finger.

“-ly unpleasant,” Tevildo finished as his claws tapped an old Noldo war march on the table, fraying the cloth that covered it. 

“It was clear enough,” Mairon leant back in his chair, “the path upon which Eru looked down upon the most was the one in which a fragment of yours Sauron, was sent forth to the Númenóreans as prisoner. You shall place a great deal of your own might into our new brother, seeing as to the fact he shall go alone amidst our foes to face off against whatever _doom_ Manwë has conceived for the breaking of the Ban. And you shall have the Ring to uphold you.”

The words _‘for now’_ went unspoken though they had all seen the Ring in the hands of a small creature, not a dwarf but certainly not a child of a man. Still he seemed cheerful enough and Thû was certain they were all of a mind when it came to intending to search of these strange little folk to learn more of them before such a time that the Ring felt into their hands.

“I cannot send the ring to Númenór with a lesser fragment?” Sauron asked and twisted the Ring upon his finger, he did not rise, not yet. 

“The Ring is, in essence, Annatar’s fragment,” Mairon said.

“Is _baby_ ,” Annatar said again and on his lap Celebri nodded.

“And seeing as to the fact that it has to develop a will of its own it falls to him to decide whether it might be sent to Númenór or not,” Mairon continued then shook his head, “However seeing as to the fact that he is not wholly well by anyone’s standards we must decide for him. And I for one do not want to send such a dangerous object into the hands of a power hungry delusional _man_ , much less any fool that would be so arrogant as to call himself _‘the Golden’_.”

“Better a man than an elf,” Thauron said.

“It has a will,” Sauron sulked, “at every opportunity it seems to leap off my finger and hide itself away in the most inaccessible places.”

“Be that as it may little brother,” Mairon said hands placed flat upon the table, “but until it speaks with a voice of its own and chooses a form of its own then we cannot count it a true will and therefore the Ring is not a true and proper fragment.”

Gorthaur stood and lifted the Iron Crown and Grond again, “Go, fragment in the privacy of your chambers, I must return to Angband but the others shall remain. Call on them if you have need of their support or comfort. The first time is always the most frightening. We support thee, littlest brother Sauron.” With that he swept through the doors which opened at his will and was gone. 

When Sauron continued to hesitate Thû squeezed his shoulder, “Call on us if you need us. We are here for you.”

“But _he_ left.” Sauron hissed and his finger showed red under the twisting of the Ring.

“Balrogs probably lit something on fire again,” Thauron said with a shrug, “he really wants Angband to be in one piece when Melkor gets back. He takes this whole regent thing very seriously.”

At length Sauron nodded, stood and left without further word.

“Alright, can I just say how absolutely amazed I am at how well this thing has gone,” Tevildo grinned with at cat’s teeth once he was certain Sauron was out of hearing range, “I mean this has been absolutely stunning! First we discover that little baby brother isn’t an utter ass and that we probably could have tended to his needs better, then we learn he is secretly a Celebrimbor lover but look at that face,” he gestured to Celebri, “who couldn’t love you? Especially if you were even half as cagey as your father.”  
Thauron stood to come and stand by Annatar, he moved Celebri out of his lap and onto the table with stiff hands. “He is very real Thû, almost frightening, such bright Noldo eyes. And that face, ai, did he ever look alike to his father and grandfather, as if they all shared but one face.

“Cur and Cel, wolves,” Annatar said with a little grin.

“Well, they certainly were vicious pack animals,” Mairon muttered and rang the bell to call for fresh brewed tea.

“No,” Thû rubbed at his face and groaned, “he means their dolls are with the werewolves. And how are the Lords of Himlad? Clean? Filthy?”

“Oh, does Celegorm like to take his brother to play with the werewolves sometimes?” Thauron crouched in front of Annatar. When Celebri moved from his place on the table to pull Thauron’s braid with his little hands he froze.

“Haha, Thau, when you move your hands like that they look like dying spiders!” Tevildo said.

There was a crack when Thauron’s head snapped back into the table and a second crack when it snapped forward into the arm of Annatar’s chair. A distressed squeal pierced the sudden silence but before any comment could be made Thauron was gone. On the table Celebri tilted his head and laced his delicate little fingers in his lap again.

“You see Annatar, that is why Thauron never visits us at Ost-in-Edhil,” Thû couldn’t even muster the energy to be properly angry because he’d said it a thousand times before, “he doesn’t like it when you move your dolls where he can’t see them. He wanted to spend some time with you just then and you’ve chased him off, _again_.”

“New baby?” Annatar made no effort to reach for Celebri but mimicked his pose.

“Patience, this sort of thing takes time,” Mairon said.

After three hours of waiting Thû wasn’t surprised when he felt the panicked connection Sauron made between their minds that consisted of, _I didn’t mean to-why is it like that-what-how-not my fault- do something-is that normal-I don’t want to touch it-come and touch it-it’s ugly-is it meant to be ugly_.

Mairon had taken Celebri while Thauron and Tevildo played games with Annatar who had grown very tired of waiting for the new baby. 

The answers to Sauron’s questions, as it turned out, were simpler than finding Sauron’s room. Barad-dûr was built like some sort of twisted maze. Not to mention that Sauron’s personal chambers were somewhere in the bowels of the tower and not at the top.

“Yes, you meant to fragment,” Thauron said and pulled their kitten weak newest baby brother up to wrap in a blanket, “all fragments start out like this, they aren’t used to having a fána. I think we can name him Artano, it was a name floating around before we joined Melkor, it’ll work for the Númenóreans. This is the nature of maiar to fragment, don’t ask me how. No it’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong. Yes, this is perfectly normal, he’s perfectly normal, everything is fine. You don’t have to touch him. And he’s not ugly, he’s just a newborn and naked, have you never looked at yourself unclothed in a mirror?”

The affronted look Sauron threw him was adorable. Meanwhile Artano made his first attempts at movement and fell off the bed. The shock of white blond hair poking out of a black blanket was endearing.

“I can’t send that to Númenór, they’ll eat him!” Sauron seemed to feel genuine concern for their newest brother which was good.

“Give him a year or two, some clothes and you’ll find he is as capable as you,” Thû put him back on the bed, this time closer to the centre, “we can stay to help you raise him until it is time to send him out to serve Eru’s will. But we will not impress upon your hospitality.”

“You can stay,” Sauron still wouldn’t touch Artano but he hovered, “at least until he can do things for himself.”

Thû put an arm around Sauron’s rigid shoulders and smiled, “Look, he has your eyes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Akinavari are black skinned desert dwelling avari elves. They worship the stars but do not consider them connected to Varda and instead associate them with Nienna and believe that they are her tears that Melkor has placed in the Void to show the world the sorrow it has caused his wife.
> 
> Arinyavari are avari elves who dwell around the sea of Núrnen. They have large dark eyes, dark brown skin and tend to have dark brown hair. They are taller on average than most West dwelling elven races.
> 
> Dökkálfar are sometimes called cave elves as they tend to prefer to live in caves, the largest known population is in Angband. They have an unusual ability to sense the presence of metals through the earth and are often found in small communities amongst dwarven halls as the dwarves value their cany sense of where to dig.
> 
> I use the term uruk instead of orcs because according to this particular headcanon that is what they call themselves where as orc is what other people call them.
> 
> Kobolds are a race of uruks found in the desert or the edges of the desert. They tend to be thin, delicate and comparatively elegant when next to other uruks.


End file.
